


Crescendo

by SuperWhoLockianFangirl



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst, Death, Gen, Violence, mentions of cannibalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 06:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperWhoLockianFangirl/pseuds/SuperWhoLockianFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He didn’t know why his heart started to speed up like it did, sounding louder than the thunder that crashed outside, but he got the overwhelming urge to run.</p><p>Will figures out that Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper just a bit too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crescendo

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing for this fandom. I wanted to write something where Will figured out who Hannibal was, but that was a divergence from the films and books. And because I'm a horrible person, I wrote this.

It was raining violently when Hannibal let Will into his home. Water was coming down in freezing torrents, thunder crashing in the sky. Will’s hair was plastered to his face as he tugged off his soaked jacket and ran a hand through his hair.

“Would you like a towel?” Hannibal’s voice seemed slightly amused and Will’s lips quirked up a bit. He nodded gratefully.

“Yeah, sorry… I’m getting water all over the place…”

“Don’t worry,” he assured him, “It’s only water. I’ve seen worse mess before.” There was that amused glint in his eyes again and Will ducked his head.

He wasn’t quite sure when he’d decided Dr. Lecter was his friend. He wasn’t sure when he’d started calling him Hannibal either – at least, in his thoughts. It just seemed to have happened, gradually and without him ever noticing.

He hadn’t liked Hannibal at first, on the general principal that he was a psychiatrist sent to psychoanalyze him. But somehow, during the months of working together and the not-therapy therapy sessions, Will had become more open with the older man and Hannibal had started to seem less clinical, more _human_.

Although, maybe in truth Will saw Hannibal as something more than human. There wasn’t another man on earth like Hannibal Lecter.

Hannibal led him into the kitchen. He’d only seen Hannibal’s kitchen a few times and was always awed by the impressive sight. It was like something you’d expect to see on television – large, pristine and advanced. Exactly what he expected, considering the amount of pride Hannibal took in his cooking; he treated it like an art.

He mopped his face and hair with the warm towel Hannibal offered him and cleaned his glasses before setting the towel aside and bracing himself against the clean counter top.

“So, William,” Hannibal turned to face him, holding a steaming mug of coffee in each hand, “what brings you here at such a late hour?”

Will accepted the coffee gratefully and fidgeted with it for a moment, casting his eyes down at the cup.

“Heh… Well…” now, somehow, it seemed ridiculous that he’d rushed to Hannibal’s the second he’d had the epiphany. Surely it could’ve waited until morning? Or even until he’d talked to Jack. He wasn’t sure why he went to Hannibal first. He wanted to get his opinion on his new theory though.

“Another nightmare? Or does this pertain to the case?”

Will frowned, “Sort of both…” he admitted, “I’ve been having these nightmares… really vivid nightmares. It’s like I _am_ him… I can see him killing, I can see why he kills, how he chooses the victims…”

“But?” Hannibal prompted.

“But it’s not enough,” Will said, shaking his head. He took a long drag off the coffee, ignoring the way it scolded his mouth and throat. He was so cold he was practically shaking. “Not for Jack at least.”

“Jack is determined to catch this killer,” Hannibal noted.

“Determined is one word for it,” Will muttered. “Jack is… _obsessed_. I don’t think he’s sleeping. He definitely isn’t stopping to eat like he used to. He hardly goes home…”

He hesitated and took another drink, thankful that this time the coffee wasn’t so hot. “The Ripper is really getting to him. After Miriam Lass…” He trailed off. He’d never seen Jack like he was now. Jack was determined, angry, ready to take on every killer out there, but _especially_ the Chesapeake Ripper. He didn’t just want the Ripper caught, he wanted him dead for what he’d done to Miriam. For what he’d put Jack through.

Will didn’t see through Jack’s stone wall of emotional stability often, but since they’d found Miriam’s arm, Jack’s wall was cracking. Will could practically see the guilt that Jack radiated. The grief. It was going to tear him apart if he kept on like he was.

Thunder clapped outside and Will jumped. His eyes darted toward the window and then back to Hannibal, who was watching him with a steady, knowing gaze. He felt calmer around Hannibal. Less like the world was going to rip itself apart. It was a nice feeling.

“You aren’t here to talk about Jack Crawford,” Hannibal said, forcing eye contact for the briefest of moments. Will felt a bit guilty for breaking it, but he never liked what he saw in people’s eyes. Not even Hannibal’s.

“No…” Will shivered again and took another long drag off the coffee. He didn’t know why he kept beating around the bush, but it felt wrong somehow to just burst out and say it.

“This last nightmare… I saw him… I mean, I _was_ him. It was like the others, but different somehow. I – _he_ was in a kitchen. Cooking dinner…” Will pressed his lips together.

“And this was strange…?”

His voice sounded small whenever he spoke this time, “I think… I think he’s eating them.”

If Will had been looking at Hannibal, he would have noticed the way the man’s face hardened just for a moment. The sharp angles twisted into a dark expression, but as the lightning flashed outside the window they settled back into the face of the kind psychiatrist Will knew.

“Eating them?”

Will nodded, his eyes darting to Hannibal’s face as he anxiously rubbed his hands together. He felt so cold, in spite of the coffee. Water was dripping from his clothes and he was sure there would be a puddle there on the floor by then. He felt guilty for making a mess.

“The trophies, the organs… He’s not keeping them. He’s eating them.”

Will shuddered at the thought. The nightmare came back in flashes: himself as the Ripper, cutting into someone’s organs – a kidney, he was pretty sure – cooking it, eating it. His stomach churned at the thought.

“It’s something to add to the profile at least...”

“Have you told Jack about this yet?”

Will hadn’t noticed that Hannibal had moved around behind him. He heard the coffee machine again and assumed he was making another cup of coffee for himself. He didn’t turn around.

He nodded vaguely as he tugged off his glasses and sat the coffee cup down on the counter. His head was killing him all of a sudden and he realized he’d left his aspirin in his jacket pockets. He pressed his fingers against his eyes, pushing hard enough to make himself see stars. It only slightly relieved the pain.

“I wanted to run it by you first…”

Hannibal didn’t respond and Will frowned. The coffee machine was still going. He tilted his head and heard a faint metallic clink. He didn’t know why his heart started to speed up like it did, sounding louder than the thunder that crashed outside, but he got the overwhelming urge to _run_.

He spun around just as Hannibal lifted the knife. In one brief second, he understood, but had no time to react.

“No…”

The word was soft as it came from his lips. And then he yelled as the knife plunged into his side. He stumbled back and Hannibal moved with him, pushing the knife deeper as he went.

One strong arm wrapped itself around his back, holding him still as his legs started to give out.

Will’s eyes roved around until he met Hannibal’s and for once, he held the eye contact. His hands were shaking as he turned his head left and right, eyes wide with fear.

“Don’t…” the word sounded so desperate, like a plea, but Hannibal jerked the knife, twisting it inside of him. He gasped, feeling like he was choking on the pain as the coppery tang of blood rushed into his mouth.

“Shh,” Hannibal’s voice was soft, “it’s alright Will, I’ve got you. Don’t hold on. Don’t fight it. Just relax.”

Will wanted to listen. He wanted to let go and make the pain stop. But his mind refused to shut itself down. Thoughts raced as everything came into place. Hannibal, the man he’d trusted, the man he’d _befriended_ was the Chesapeake Ripper. He was a serial killer.

Will’s stomach turned and his shaking hands came up to grip Hannibal’s arm, squeezing with all the strength he had left.

“P-Please…” the word was half whispered. His eyelids fluttered open and he looked at Hannibal’s face.

He expected it to be cold and detatched, but Hannibal looked pained. A soft smile crossed his lips and he loosened his grip on Will’s shoulders, moving him gently so that he was lying flat on the floor.

The knife was yanked out then, sending Will’s body shuddering against the newest flash of pain that coincided with the thunder outside.

Hannibal reached down and brushed his wet hair off of his forehead.

“I’m sorry, William,” he said, and he sounded so sincere. Will almost believed he was truly sorry. “I never wanted it to come to this. I tried to get you to stop…”

Flashes of conversations floated through Will’s mind. Hannibal telling him that this job was killing him. Hannibal telling him to stand down. Hannibal telling him that Jack was going to push him too far. Hannibal telling him he should stop before things got too bad.

He laughed. It came out gurgled with the blood in his mouth and it hurt beyond words. Hannibal really had warned him. Had tried to stop him. Wanted to help him. Because he’d known if Will looked too hard he’d figure it out and then he couldn’t be allowed to live.

His body was starting to feel numb. The pain washed away slowly, like a tide falling back. He focused on the sound of Hannibal’s voice, so close to his head, and let his eyes slip closed again.

“You really are a remarkable young man,” Hannibal said, “You’re more like me than you know, William. I’m sorry.”

Then there was silence. Nothing but the sound of the violent rain and the crescendo of thunder outside as Will faded into the dark.

* * *

It took less than a day for them to figure out that Will Graham was missing. When he didn’t show up to teach the following morning, Jack sent Alana, accompanied by two agents, to Will’s house.

The dogs were scratching at the door, their food bowls half full, but there was no sign of Will. His car was there in the drive, his jacket, slightly damp, tossed on the bed, along with his cellphone.

Jack was furious. He screamed, he yelled, he snapped. Anyone unlucky enough to speak to him that day was in for a long tirade of underserved berate.

“Jack,” Alana tried to reason with him, “Will’s probably fine. We just need to give it time.”

“What we need, Dr. Bloom, is to _find Will Graham._ Before it’s too late.”

They called everyone. No one had seen him. Abigail hadn’t spoken to Will in over a week. Hannibal hadn’t seen him in two days – not since their last session. He assured Jack all was well when Will had left. He was fine aside from slight insomnia.

By the end of the day, Jack was more than angry – he was worried. Jack Crawford didn’t like to let himself worry, but he was truly terrified of what could have happened to Will. His mind flashed to Miriam, but he shoved her out of his mind. That had been a mistake he’d made years ago. Will was fine.

As he entered his house, he found himself wishing Bela were home. He missed her now more than ever, but she insisted on ignoring the issue and he wasn’t quite sure how to push it without coming off as heartless.

He dropped his bag and jacket at the door and went straight into the kitchen to pour himself a drink.

That was where he found it. A note, sitting out on the counter, propped up slightly by a pair of glasses. Will Graham’s glasses.

Jack’s stomach twisted as he moved toward the note like a zombie. It was the same elegant script as the note they’d found beside Miriam Lass’ arm and his hands shook as he read it, faint tears sparking behind his eyes.

_You shouldn’t have made him look._

* * *

**End**  


**Author's Note:**

> I hope they were in character. Especially Hannibal. Any comments and critiques are welcome!


End file.
